RUSH
by JNVV
Summary: Stan has a falling out with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. Something is clearly going on with him, but what? And will he even accept help? Story follows In Kyles POV while he struggles to maintain a job, keep his grades up, keep a girlfriend, and trying to help Stan in any way he can. Multichapter fic in progress.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone. I know people don't like OCs, so I wanted to clarify that this is a Kyle/Stan centric Fic. It's the first one I've written in a couple years so I'm a little rusty, and on top of that it's my first multi chapter story. Anyway please enjoy.

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It's Wednesday, and those super low-budget "hamburgers" are on the menu board, but I'm not buying. Instead, I'm sharing with someone. Everything looks amazing, tasty, and fresh. Best of all, I can eat everything here without sending my blood sugar into orbit!

"Thanks for sharing. You didn't have to." Lisa smiles at me and hands me a little steaming cup. Lisa is pretty, with long black hair and heavy bangs. She also has braces, which I find cute. "What's this?" I ask, looking into the cup.

"Lemon ginger tea. It's really yummy." She stabs some rolled up lunch meat with cream cheese with a toothpick. "It's supposed to be good for people with diabetes. Try it."

I take a cautious sip… It _is_ good! "Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

Lisa and I met at a book store the other day. When I saw her, in the corner, sipping her drink, face in a book, I realized I had never seen her before, and felt compelled to say hi. Now in my head, I planned to walk up to her super smooth like and introduce myself. What I did was twist an ankle, bump into a bookshelf -which then fell into her, of course- and land flat on my face. I wanted to melt into the goddamn carpet and disappear. As it turned out, she's great, and was super nice about the whole thing. And we went to the same school! We wound up talking for over an hour.

When Stan and Kenny finally make it out of the lunch line I wave them over, chowing down on some deviled eggs. Man, I wish school lunches were like this!

"Hey Kyle," Stan says.

"Hey dudes. This is Lisa. Lisa, this is Stan and Kenny."

Kenny slides in next to Lisa and Stan sits across from us. Kenny is kind of ridiculous, really. He just met her and he's already way too interested. I'm not surprised, though. He's good looking and he knows it. Girls give him attention. He's the tallest out of us all, except for Cartman. He's pretty thin, too, and the first one of us to have any facial hair. It's sort of weird how much he looks like his dad now.

"So where are you from?" he asks.

"My dad was in the Army so we moved all over." Lisa struggles to pin back her bangs with a bobby pin. "Soooo, that's kind of impossible to answer. The last place I lived was Ohio, though."

"That's cool. Stan's Uncle Jimbo was in the Army," I say. "right Stan?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Stan dips a fry in ketchup, looking disinterested. I shoot him a dirty look. "So did anyone do the homework for Dom's class?"

Kenny pulls a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. "I did."

"Excellent! Mind if I copy?" Before Kenny can even answer, Stan snatches it out of his hand.

I sigh, frustrated. Stan has been so bad about this lately. I mean, he used to at least TRY. Now he doesn't even bother. Kenny says he's depressed over the fact that Wendy already has another boyfriend, but I don't know. Something seems off about him, and any time I try to talk about it he blows me off, or says everything is fine. He used to be so smart and ambitious. Seeing him struggle and not even care makes me sad, but I totally get it. I mean, my parents made me get a job, and between work, homework, and researching colleges, I don't have the energy to really do anything I enjoy, let alone hang out. That's why I'm so patient with Stan, because I know how it is. I know his parents are split up again and he's messed up over it. I know he's hurting. But if he won't let me help, what am I supposed to do except wait?

"Wait, you didn't do the last 4 problems Kenny."

"So?"

"So if I don't do the last 4 problems, and you don't do the last 4 problems, then he's gonna know I copied."

"So do them yourself."

"Ugh!" Stan takes off his baseball cap with a groan. "Fine… I hate math."

While Stan silently fumes, things are going well with Kenny, Lisa and I. I'm glad. Later, I think I'll introduce her to some of the girls, and then maybe she won't feel so alone. We're all laughing about some dumb commercial, when all of a sudden— "Well hello, you guys. Who's your new friend, Kahl?"

Oh. _Damnit_

Lisa looks over her shoulder, and then straight up, since Cartman grew into a damn bus over the summer. He's still overweight, but nothing like when we were younger. He would be great on the football team, except that involves running and Cartman says there's no way in Hell that's happening. "Oh, hi. I'm Lisa."

For a moment, Cartman stares at her with this silent intensity. It's fucking creepy. I'm practically praying the next words out of his mouth aren't something incredibly stupid or racist, but I'm not holding my breath.

"Uh huh…" he approaches the table, drops his tray with a loud CLANG, and sits. "And what is your, ah, given name?"

"Cartman," I warn him. "Don't."

But Lisa seems oblivious. Of course she would be. Normal people are not like Cartman. She has no idea what an asshole he is. "Chung Lì húa."

"Hmm…" Cartman strokes his chin. "So you're a Chinese, then?"

Stan stops scribbling down answers and rolls his eyes. "Dude, don't—"

What Cartman says next blows me away. "Nǐ shì cóng nǎlǐ lái de?"

"Whoa, what the fuck?" Kenny begins laughing hysterically. "What was THAT?"

Stan tilts his head. "Since when do you speak Chinese?"

"I speak many languages, Stan," Cartman reveals. "Remember? I'm suppose you could say I'm a bit of a polyglot."

All I can do is sit here with my mouth agape, a horrified look on my face, and then I glance at Lisa, and she looks impressed. Oh fuck. No you don't, Cartman, you fat racist fuck!

"Huh? Wǒ lái zì Běijīng. That's pretty impressive. You even got the tones right, not many people do."

"Yeah," I mumble in a monotone voice. "That's impressive all right."

Cartman cocks an eyebrow, his hands forming a pyramid of smugness. More than anything right now, I want to punch him. "Xiexie. I've had quite a bit of time to study your language. Your people." He stares deep into her eyes, a smirk wedged in the corner of his mouth. He isn't looking at me, but I know that smirk is meant for me. "And please, call me Eric."

I suppress a groan and mouth 'knock it off' at him. He just beams back and starts eating. Meanwhile, Stan finishes and hands Kenny his paper back. He puts back on his cap and stands up. Doesn't even bother to say goodbye.

Lisa looks uncomfortable.

"Uh, _goodbye_?" I call after him.

"What's his problem?"

Cartman takes this opportunity to hook his pinky around the edge of Stan's tray and slide it his way. "Who knows? Maybe he's upset about the whales again. He's just a big fat floppy vagina, guys; ignore him."

Kenny snickers.

"So anyway!" I clear my throat loudly. "Lisa, I was thinking I could give you a tour when we're done. What do you think?"

"Sure, sounds fun."


	2. Chapter 2

The remainder of the day goes by smoothly. After lunch, I gave Lisa a tour of the school. We parted ways in front of Mrs. Hammersmith's English class and I went to P.E.

I'm finally home now, inspecting myself in a full length mirror in my room. My tongue pokes out of the side of my mouth in deep concentration. I hate my work uniform. I don't know why I have to wear a tie to run the deep fryer or scrub the toilet, but whatever. Company policy.

"It's like, one week he's so distant and so agitated, and the next everything is back to normal."

Cartman is either ignoring me or humoring me by being silent while I vent. He's laying across the foot of my bed, playing catch with his hat.

"Well, Kyle, if you ask me Stan's being a little bitch."

"No," I groan, running some gel through my hair. Never thought I'd like my hair, but I've grown into it. "I mean, yeah, but this just isn't like him. It's almost like back when we were… Wait, you don't think he's drinking again, do you?"

"Who cares?"

"I fucking care!" I cry, glowering. "He's my best friend."

"Boyfriend, you mean. You've got a total boner for that loser. It's okay, Kahl. Today, being a banana crammer is the norm. No one will even give you any trouble, I'll bet."

"Shut up, fat ass!" I retort. "Oh, man, why didn't I think of this sooner? I swear, if he is, then I'll-"

With a groan, Cartman manages to sit up and put his hat on. "Ugh. Dude, fuck Stan. Preferably later. We're gonna be late, and if I get another fucking write up I'm gonna be pissed."

Hurrying down the stairs, I shout a "see you later!" to my brother and head to the garage to get my bike. We pedal quickly, racing the sunset. It's amazing that Cartman's mom hasn't already bought him a car. Seems like something she'd do, since she spoils the shit out of that brat.

Huffing and puffing, the neon glow of the sign finally comes to view. Cartman and I park our bikes outside, set the lock, turn our cellphones to vibrate, and go in the back side.

A low murmur meets my ears inside. There are people standing in line while their kids duck under the stanchion and play hide and seek. It looks busy.

"Eric, where's your name tag?" I hear Shelley ask as I punch in. I can't help but snicker when Cartman goes, 'aw, damnit. I knew I forgot something!'

"C'mon, Shelley, don't write me up," Cartman pleads in his best I'm-a-good-person-voice.

"Sorry, Eric, but you're out of uniform."

When I first found out Shelley was our supervisor, I sort of wanted to quit. She really gave Stan a hard time growing up; she was downright evil. But she's evened out a lot now. Sometimes I feel like she takes it out on us if she has a bad date or something, but for the most part, she's tough but fair.

Ultimately she can't take Cartman's whining and gives in. "Fine, here. Take this one."

"Sweet, thanks Shelley! Wait." The smile is replaced with a perplexed look. He chuckles and tries to hand it back. "This—this is a girls name, Shelley. I—I'm seriously. I'm not a girl."

"Well it's all I have right now."

"What? Goddamni—fine." Cartman pins it to his shirt and takes a deep, calming breath. "Fine. It's for the money, Eric… Tonight, I will be Tricia. For the money…you goddamn bitch."

There's a middle-aged lady in the back, hauling huge packets of meat out of the warmer. Cartman goes back to relieve her, moaning and groaning about how the floor looks like somebody took a shit all over it and don't we have any goddamn Mexicans on afternoon shift to clean this shit up?

I manage to grab the sleeve of Shelley's shirt before she walks away. "Hey Shelley, can I talk to you about something? In private?"

She blinks and points me to the office. "Yeah, let's go in there."

Door shut tight and locked, I sigh and lean against a filing cabinet.

"What's up, Kyle?"

"It's Stan."

Her expression remains unchanged. I wonder if she knows? "What about him?"

My eyes wander to the ground. I feel bad. Am I betraying Stan? I know he told me to leave him alone, but… he'd do the same for me, wouldn't he? "He's been acting really weird lately, and I just…I don't know what to do. He barely even talks to me anymore. I mean I know I've been working a lot, but I never see him anymore. And he's copying people's work in class. "

"He's been really down since our parents split up again." Shelley sighs. "Mom's trying to get him to talk to a therapist, but he says he won't. Honestly, Kyle? I don't have a clue what he's been up to. He's hardly ever home, and when he is, he's holed up in his room sleeping. He's being a huge jerk, too. He made my mom cry the other night."

"What? How?" That's definitely not like Stan.

"He told her to fuck off and let him live his life. She threatened to ground him, but ground him from what? All he does is sleep."

I flich when Shelley tells me what Stan said. What is going on with him? I guess he could be hanging out with the guys, but that seems unlikely.

"Ay!" Suddenly there's Cartman, banging on the door looking pissed off. "I'm sorry, I didn't know work consisted of chatting it up with the supervisor while the rest of us work like dogs!"

He's so dramatic.

My phone feels like a brick in my pocket, and I have a strong urge to text Stan. Maybe I can sneak off to the bathroom for a few minutes. Cartman raps on the door again, giving me a pointed look. I sigh. "Okay, well, thanks. Maybe I'll try to talk to him again."

"About time," Cartman scoffs as I walk by. "Been in there since we clocked in."

"Will you shut the hell up?" I snarl. "What's it matter to you? You're still getting paid."

"Yeah, but I'm actually working!"

Choosing to ignore him, I start counting out the current cashier. The only reason Cartman's such a dick is because they won't let him run the window. He has a history of stealing, or replacing bills with fake ones he's made. It's pretty hilarious how pissed off he gets. It's not discrimination when you're a known criminal, fat ass.

My headset chimes. I sigh, fix my hat, put on a smile, and approach the register.

I'll try to call Stan on my break. Wonder if he'll answer?


	3. Chapter 3

Stan didn't pick up. Big surprise.

The sun streaming through my window awakens me the next morning. The alarm says I have 15 minutes left to sleep, but I don't need them. I fly through my morning routine and grab my coat, crunching through last nights snow. Trails of fog chase me as I march to Stan's house.

Shelley's car isn't parked in the driveway which means she probably stayed at her boyfriends after work. I knit my brow, going over what I'll say to Stan when the door creaks open. That's when I notice my fist in the air. I guess I already knocked.

"Hi Kyle," Mrs. Marsh greets me. I feel like I haven't seen her in years, but it's only been a month and a half, maybe. Has she always looked this tired?

"Hi , Mrs. Marsh. Stan and I are supposed to walk to the bus stop today," I lie.

"Oh." She seems confused. "Stanley said he wasn't feeling well today."

Is he trying to skip school? Again? "Can I talk to him?"

She steps aside and opens the door a little wider. "Sure, come on in."

I take a good look around on my way to the stairs. I know Stan's dad moved out a couple of months ago, but for the most part, everything looks the same. I guess it's because Stan's mom made him keep all his junk in the spare bedroom. I climb the stairs, carefully studying the pictures on my way up. Oh, man. There's Stan and I when we were six, playing on the swings. Dude, look how happy he was.

"Stan?" I call out, nearing his door. No reply. I knock, and wait. "Stan? It's Kyle. Can I come in?"

A tiny groan form the other side of the door lets me know he's awake. I take this as a 'yes, you may enter,' and crack the door.

"Oh, dude, it reeks in here!"

It smells like the entire carpet is made of weed. In actuality, it seems to be made up of all sorts of stuff. Clothes, silverwear, cups, papers. You name it, it's on Stan's floor. Carefully I tiptoe around everything and that's when I realize he looks like total shit. He's curled into the fetal position, eyes red and half closed.

"Kyle?" he sniffs. Has he been crying?

"Jesus, dude, are you all right?"

Stan squints, using the long undershirt sleeve to rub the gunk out of his eyes. He sits up and yawns. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we could walk to the bus stop together."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, did my mom tell you I'm not going?"

"Your mom said you were sick. You seemed fine yesterday," I add, suspiciously.

"Yeah," he says, and I grimace. His breath smells like dogshit. "I'll—I'll be all right, though. I just gotta…just need to sleep it off." He sniffs again.

"Sleep it off? Sleep what off, Stan?" the words fly out of my mouth.

"Just, this." He throws his hands out, palms up.

My eyebrow raises. "What's 'this' mean?"

"I don't know, dude," he groans, a hint of irritation in his voice. I can tell he's starting to get defensive. "It's a cold or something. Anyway, I'm not going to school today, so you're wasting your time."

"Okay, Stan," I say flatly, but don't move.

He looks at me, icily. Challenging me. I look right back, standing tall. I know he knows I'm not about to give up that easily.

"What?" Stan asks. "Kyle, WHAT? What do you want? Go to school, already, damn."

A million thoughts run through my head. I could yell. I could plead. I have so many options. I think back to how he acted all those years ago. Honest to God, I couldn't stand to be around him. I felt like I was losing my best friend. But things started to get better out of nowhere one day, and I was content to just let it go, because I had my friend back. Now, I'm afraid he's falling back into old habits. I mean, look at his dad. "If I go over to your dresser right now, I won't find a bottle of whiskey, will I Stan?"

Stan slowly turns to face me. He looks so outraged, like he can't believe I'd even THINK that. I KNOW that look, Stan. I know when you're lying. You try so hard to look offended, but you can't even look me in the eye. "Get lost, Kyle."

"No!" I shout, bolting for the dresser.

He dives off the bed and slams into me, grabbing my wrists and bending them back. Stan is a little stronger than me. If I don't stop him, he might break something.

"Let go! Stan, let go, you're hurting me!"

He forces me into the wall with a dull THUD, just holding me there and glaring, glaring at me like a wild animal. I've never seen him like this before.

"Stop lying, Stan! We can get you help."

"You think you know everything, Kyle," Stan says coldly. He releases me and violently starts tearing the drawers off the dresser. "Go ahead, dig through them if you don't believe me!"

I shrink into myself, cowering. He's like an animal, screaming at me to search through every single thing if it will make me happy. When I don't move, he starts doing it himself. Shirt after shirt fly through the air and land on the floor, followed by socks, underwear; everything. When he's finally through, he turns to me, daring me to say I still don't believe him.

He's out of breath, and so am I.

"I…I-I…" My heart is beating wildly, my face flush and my arms tingling. When it begins to fade, I notice my wrist still hurts. I pull a glove off, and there are four perfect little half moon shapes cut into my skin. "Stan, you hurt me."

Suddenly he's my Stan again. The wild look in his eyes is gone, replaced with concern and shame. It's like he's seeing what he's done for the first time. The clothes, my wrist—"Kyle, I-I'm sorry. I don't know what…"

I stare angrily at him, my mind completely blank. I have no words.

Head still swimming, I march down the stairs past Mrs. Marsh, who keeps asking me what happened and if everything is okay. I pause, considering if I should say anything. I don't think I can, though. I'm still in shock. I opt to just march past her and out the door, not even bothering to slam it behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days go by without incident. On Friday, Lisa and I went to the zoo and got some ice cream. We had a great time. It was so nice to get out of the house and be around someone positive for a change, and I couldn't have asked for a nicer day.

Her parents took us out to dinner at this fancy steakhouse, which was a little awkward for me, but they're nice people. I guess they're pretty well off. I don't care about how much money Lisa has, though. She's just fun to be around.

She has a younger brother about Ike's age. When her mom dropped me off at home, my mom and her set up a playdate for our brothers. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of Lisa from now on.

"Hey, Kyel, come take a look at this."

I mash the pause button on the game controller. Cartman is leaning up against the side of my bed, looking at something on his phone. I lean over and glance at the screen. "What is it?"

It's a pair of breasts.

"Cartman, what the hell!"

"Heh, heh. Nice, huh?"

"Who is that?" If he's been using Butter's dad's drone again, so help me…

"I dunno. Hey, hey Kinny, come look at this chicks titties." Cartman tilts the screen.

Kenny, who is lying on his stomach propped up on his elbows, hits pause, too. We're feeling a little nostalgic tonight, and decided to play Mortal Kombat. I'm winning.

His head is covered by a huge fluffy blanket; I can't even make out his features. He gives a thumbs up. "Whoa, nice sun lines."

"You guys are pigs," I mumble under my breath.

"Whatever, dude. Some of us like titties," Cartman huffs. He hunkers back down and pulls up a second webpage. Something about ISIS. I don't even want to know.

Three AM rolls around and we're all still up, laughing and throwing pieces of caramel corn at one another. Cartman's eating more than he's throwing, but still.

"Ew, Kenny, don't eat it off the floor."

"He has no choice, Kyle. Kenny's so poor floor 'corn is like, a super huge deal to him. Ow, GODDAMNIT! Don't hit me, you son of a bitch!"

"Then stop calling me poor!" Kenny fires back.

Cartman lunges at Kenny. "I'll kill you!"

"Dude, calm down, if you jump the whole second story might collapse."

"AY! I AM NOT FAT!"

I roll my eyes. This is so typical. I should be annoyed, especially when my mom starts tapping the floor below us with the handle of a broom, but I can't help but crack a smile. This is nice. I miss this. I honestly don't even mind that they're making so much noise, even when my dad comes up to scold us. It's hard to take him seriously in boxer shorts, bunny slippers, and my mom's robe.

"Ike has school tomorrow," my dad reminds me, like he wants me to feel guilty. It's not my fault Ike's a genius and takes weekend classes.

"Sorry, dad."

Kenny pops his head out from the blanket. "Yeah, Sorry Mr. B. We'll keep it down. So…" just as my dad shuts the door, Ken's blanket whips me in the face. "What's going on with that girl you've been hanging out with?"

"Lisa?"

"Yeah. Are you two dating?"

Oh, no. I was afraid of this. Kenny… he likes the chase, and that's it. He isn't ready for a steady girlfriend. He's still too immature. It's almost like a game to him, how many girls he can hook up with in given period of time. Luckily, Lisa is too smart for his tricks.

"Uh, well," I begin stammering, fighting to pull the blanket off my head. Great. I can hear the static that produced. I bet I look like Ronald McDonald right now. "No. I mean, not yet. I mean, I don't know. We're just friends."

"Yeah, Kyle's heart belongs to Stan, Kenny, didn't you know?" Cartman interjects like an idiot, finishing off the rest of the 2liter of soda.

"Shut up!" This is getting exhausting. "If I was so in love with Stan, then how could I be interested in Lisa?"

"That would be called bisexuality," he answers matter of factly. "You should really educate yourself. Ignorance is not an attractive trait mates seek out, Kahl."

"Shut the hell up," I mumble, blanket pooling around my shoulders now. Kenny is still waiting expectantly for me to give him the go ahead. I can't, though. "Look, could you not go after Lisa? Please? I really like her and I think I might have a shot with her. You can literally get any girl you want. Let me have her."

The corner of Ken's mouth twists up. "Okay, she's all yours."

"Thanks, Ken."

Kenny is the first to fall asleep, so, obviously, Cartman draws a sharpie wang on his face. It's tradition. At least he doesn't smear shit under his nose like he used to do with Butters. For how much Cartman questions my sexuality, he sure did some pretty gay stuff when we were kids.

I'm all curled up in my bed, my mind already beginning to drift off when my pillow vibrates. Confused, I squint at my phone. It's a text from Stan.

From Stan?!

My eyes pop open and I slide my thumb across the screen to unlock it.

It reads:

TEXT MESSAGE FROM: STAN

Saturday, 5:30AM

I'm sorry Kyle. I'll do better, I promise. Can we talk?

Normally that would pull at my heart strings, but tonight… forget it. I'm just too tired to get roped into anything this late. If he's serious, I'll talk to him tomorrow. Rolling over, I pull the covers up over my head, and let the television lull me to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunday rolls by and I excitedly knock on Stan's door. Stan doesn't answer the door though, Shelley does.

"He isn't home," she says. "Hasn't been since last night."

Okay.

I check back later in the afternoon, but still no Stan. Worried, I fire off a quick text. He doesn't reply. Sighing in frustration, I shove my hands into my pockets and stomp home, feeling like such an asshole for actually believing he'd be there. He's probably laughing at what an idiot I am.

I go get the basketball from the garage and start to shoot hoops. It helps to keep my mind off how frustrated I am, and gives me a huge adrenaline rush. I can't remember the last time I ran around this much. I should be tired by now, but I'm not. The more times I throw the ball, the angrier I get. I feel like I could run a marathon. Until I feel the world shift beneath me. That was… weird.

The ball drops from my hands. They're trembling. How long has that been going on? Shit! I'm crashing. I can feel myself start to black out as I scramble in slow motion to get to the grass. I don't land on the soft grass, though; or the cold, hard pavement for that matter. I'm floating? I feel a pair of hands wrapped around my chest, a familiar voice in my ear: "Kyle, holy shit! Are you all right?"

"Stan?" I say, weakly.

I hear the basketball hit something hard and bounce away. Stan must have kicked it out of the way. I frown, feeling his hand in my pocket. What is he…? "When was the last time you ate? Kyle! Answer me."

Oh, he's looking for my meter. That's good. Off goes my glove. Beep.

"72. Come on, let's get you inside."

He doesn't seem to struggle at all getting me into the house and gently placing me on the couch. "Drink," he urges, shoving a cold glass of orange juice into my hand. "Where are your parents?"

"Dads't wrk…Mom. Mom'sth Ike."

"Hey, drink that."

But I don't want to drink. I've already hit that point where I know I'm low, know I need to get my sugar up before I pass out, but the thought of ingesting something makes me physically ill. I'm so groggy. What I'd really like to do is have a nap. The logical part of me knows I'd lapse into a coma and die if I did that, but sleep sounds so good.

"Don't make me pour it down your throat," Stan warns me, placing his hand over mine. The straw bumps my mouth and, blinking heavily, I begin to drink.

Minutes pass, and I'm starting to feel myself again. I'm still weak, and Stan knows it, so we sit in a comfortable silence, side by side, my head resting on his shoulder. I'm vaguely aware of him taking my hand again. I feel a tiny pinch. Beep. "98. That's better. Here, eat this."

I crack open an eye.

"Cheese," I say flatly. "Yay."

"Just eat it."

Well, it did help. I feel a lot better. I'm still mad, though. Stan reaches for my hand again, but I pull away. "Where have you been all day? I sent you a text."

"Sorry, I was busy."

"With what?"

"Just…don't worry about it. I'm here now, right?"

"You really hurt me the other day," I reply quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry." His voice sounds so sad.

"Tell me what's been going on with you."

"Kyle, nothing has been going on w—"

"You say you aren't drinking—"

"I'm not!"

"But you're hiding something! I'm not stupid."

"Look." Stan sighs. "I…I didn't want to say anything because I know how busy you've been working. I… I'm kind of…seeing someone." A girlfriend? That's why he's been acting like such a jerk? Unbelievable! "I didn't tell anyone because, well, she's…she's a little bit older than me, and I didn't want you to freak out."

I mentally go through a list of all the girls I know at school.

"Who is it?"

"You don't know her."

"Is she a senior?"

"…She doesn't go to our school."

I suddenly narrow my eyes. "What school does she go to? …Does she even go to school?"

Stan lets his wrists fall into his lap limply, clutching my meter case.

"How much older is older, Stan?"

"20."

"20?!" I shriek, sitting straight. I purse my lips. "You're 16!"

Stan drops his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know, I know. It sounds bad. But it's really not."

"Are you two having SEX?" I shout.

"No! No."

"Then what the hell are you doing with her?" I'm furious! Who is this woman and what is she thinking?

"See?" he all but whines. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Understand? Stan, she's an adult. You're—"

"I'm almost 17." I just stare. "The age of consent in Colorado is 17. So in a few months, it'll be perfectly legal and there won't be a thing you can do about it, so there." He is so damn defiant. I can see why Shelley doesn't even bother anymore.

I just slouch back into the sofa, numb. Okay, so it could be worse. That doesn't make it any better, though. I glance at Stan, who is visibly upset. What do I do? My heart sinks. Do I tell someone? If I do, Stan will never talk to me again, I'm sure of it. He might pack up and take off with this chick when he turns 17 and I'll never see him again. I frown. Is it…Is it better to just pretend I don't know? For the sake of keeping him around? Christ, Stan. What am I supposed to do with this information?

"…I won't tell."

"Huh?"

"Against my better judgement, I won't tell. But you have to promise me you won't get this lady pregnant, or, or run off and never speak to me again."

"Thanks, Kyle." He hands me back my meter. "Things are going to be different, don't worry. Things are going to be better."

"I sure hope so, Stan," I say warily.

A small, minute part of me wants to trust him so badly. He keeps his word, and we spend the rest of the day together, and it's just like old times. We sit across from one another, playing the Chinpokomon card game and laughing, and I feel the happiest I've been in months.


	6. Chapter 6

Several weeks later, sun is shining in South Park, and I feel great. Stan is making an effort to be in our lives again and he's keeping his word. He's even started showing up for school again. We hang out all the time now. We picked up so easily where things left off, it's like he never even left. On top of that, Lisa and I are hitting it off wonderfully. Now that I have things going on in my life again, school and work don't weigh me down as much.

"He was already Evil, Kyle."

"No, I don't believe that. I think she was in love with him and just went along with it because she was afraid to lose him."

Stan scoffs. "They barely knew each other How could she be in love with him that fast?"

"It's a movie, it doesn't have to make perfect sense."

Kenny, Stan and I are sitting on Cartman's porch. The super nice lady from down the street gives a friendly little honk and waves as she drives by. We wave back, and then continue our discussion. Stan and I are arguing about Anakin using the Jedi mindpower to seduce Padme, while Kenny Snapchats some chick in Alaska. He thinks that dog filter is hilarious and uses it every chance he gets. Personally? I'm tired of it.

"It just doesn't make sense, dude."

"I know, but hear me out—ouch! Watch it, Cartman."

Cartman's hip hits Stan in the side of the head as he struggles to fit past. His mom is flirting like mad with the electrician that's there to take a look at the kitchen ceiling fan. It's… embarrassing to watch, so here we are.

"Well then, get outta my way," Cartman says, fingers wrapped around a handful of CheeseyPoofs.

Kenny spots his opportunity. His hand snaps out, fast as a ninja, and Cartman's CheeseyPoofs go flying through the air. "HEY! Fuck you, Kenny! This isn't a goddamn soup kitchen, what are you even doing here? Who invited you?"

"Fuck off," Kenny replies as casually, as though telling the time.

Brring!

"Oh," I say thoughtfully, reaching into my pocket for my phone. A text from Lisa, asking me how I'm doing. I slip off my gloves to reply. I must be smiling like an idiot, because Stan asks me what's so funny. "Lisa just sent me a text to ask how I was doing, is all."

"Awww," Cartman mocks. "Kyle has a girlfriend. "Tough luck, Stan."

Nobody even acknowledges his dumb ass.

"Don't tell me you're ditching us?" Kenny asks.

"Nah." I shrug. "I have plans to hang out with her tomorrow night."

"That's cool," Stan says. I smile a little. Holy crap, I forgot how good Stan made me feel. Like he's proud of me for coming out of my shell. "Things are getting pretty serious between you guys?"

My cheeks go red. "Yeah, I guess." I almost ask him the same thing, but catch myself. Curious, I glance at him. He's smiling. Like, a genuine smile. Whatever was going on must be over, now. Maybe Kenny was right. Now that he's over Wendy, maybe things will go back to normal for good.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Kenny does the same.

"So, what do you guys want to do?" Stan asks.

Cartman's stomach produces a low whine. I can only guess what that means. "Ugh, you guys, is anyone else starving?"

Kenny pipes up excitedly. "Let's go to Denny's."

Actually, pancakes sound awesome right now. "Sure, I'm in."

"I don't know," Stan says hesitantly. "Wouldn't you guys rather go see a movie or something?"

"No, I'm with Kenny. I haven't eaten since this morning. I'm famished."

With everyone in agreeance (except for Stan, who doesn't seem thrilled. Seriously, who doesn't like pancakes?), we set off for Denny's. The walk doesn't take us long, except for Cartman, who keeps stopping to complain.

The waitress seats us at a booth and hands out the menus.

"No thanks, I already know what I want."

"Ooh. I'm gonna get some pancakes. No, waffles. Maybe both. And double bacon." Cartman says to himself, scanning the entire menu. "Kenny, you know what you should get? Get the pancakes with bacon in them, Kenny, Oh my God they're amazing."

As Cartman and Kenny excitedly discuss what they're ordering, I can't help but notice Stan looks anxious. He almost looks nauseous. Under the Denny's lighting, I finally notice the dark rings under his eyes. Huh. I didn't notice those on the walk over here. "Are you okay, Stan?"

"Yeah, I'm just not that hungry." He taps his fingertips across the tabletop and sighs. "I'll be right back. Order me a coke or something."

"Sure Stan," Kenny replies.

I watch him head for the restroom and get this weird feeling I should follow him. I tell the guys my order and casually make my way to the back, where the restrooms are, but the door is locked. What? I'm sure I just saw Stan go in there, and there's no maintenance sign.

"Stan?" I call, banging my fist against the door. "Hello?"

Someone's blowing their nose. That stops as soon as I start calling Stan's name. I hear a toilet flush and a second later there he is, standing in the doorway with a smile on his face."Hey, what's up?"

suspicion creeps across my face. "What were you doing in there, Stan?"

"Uh, taking a crap, why?"

I take a step forward. Stan takes one back. Eventually I back him into the restroom far enough where I can see everything. "Who locks the door when they're taking a crap in a public restroom?" I question, looking for anything out-of-place. Several stalls, sinks. Everything appears normal.

"Uh," is all he manages to say.

I drop my head. I had my suspicions, but now I'm sure. He's doing something, all right. This is exactly how he acted when he was abusing alcohol. There was the high, where I had normal, happy Stan back, and then the low, where I'd be digging through his room, filling up plastic trash bags with empty vodka and whiskey bottles. I knew it. I fucking knew it. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Hand it over, Stan." Stan balks. Stares at me like I've gone mad. I don't care. I hold my hand out, open-palm, and look him in the eye grimly. "Whatever it is, I'll take it from you, if I have to."

"I don't have anything."

"Stop lying!" I shout, my echo vibrating off the walls. "I am so sick of you lying to me!"

I'm on him in a flash, fighting to keep him from running. Luckily, Kenny came to see what was taking so long, and walks in on me doing my best to restrain Stan, our shoes squeaking against the tile. "Kenny, Stan's using again, grab him!"

Kenny pounces on Stan, too, not needing any further instruction. We all three wrestle for several seconds, bumping into sinks and smearing handprints on the mirrors. I almost don't hear it when that little pill hits the bathroom floor.

Stan freezes, staring helplessly at me.

"What the hell is that?" I bark.

Kenny releases Stan and bends down, picking it up. He inspects it closely. "That's Klonopin," he informs. "What are you doing with Klonopin, dude?"

Stan's breathing is erratic now. He gives me a hard shove and leans against one of the sinks to recover.

"Why the hell do you have Klonopin, Stan?" I repeat after Kenny.

"M-my therapist prescribed them for me," he says softly. "They help calm me down."

"Shit." That's right, Shelley did say their mom was trying to get him to see someone. That's why he said things were going to be better. I feel like such a moron. Why didn't he tell me? And why was he putting up such a fight? He could have just told me. "I had no idea."

Stan holds his hand out toward Kenny, who hesitates in handing it back, but does. He stuffs it in his coat pocket and frowns. "I didn't want anyone to know. I was ashamed."

Oh, dude. Seriously? "There's nothing to be ashamed of, man."

"Well I don't feel that way, Kyle, and you better not tell anyone about this. Or you, Kenny."

Kenny holds his hands up passively. "My lips are zipped."

"Mine too. I'm just… sorry. Can we finish lunch now?"

"What in God's name is taking you assholes so long?" Cartman bellows as the bathroom door flies open. He doesn't seem to notice how tense we all are, or he doesn't care. "What's everyone looking at? Let's GO!"

"Actually," Stan mumbles, fixing his hat. "You guys go ahead, I'm gonna go."

"Stan, wait!" I start to say, but there's no stopping him.

Son of a bitch. Why am I so stupid?


End file.
